


the plant that never blooms

by starbirdie (thelittlebirdthattoldyou)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Final Haikyuu Quest, Angst, Complicated Relationships, Demon King Oikawa Tooru, Fantasy, Knight Iwaizumi Hajime, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Relationship(s), Slight fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29371680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlebirdthattoldyou/pseuds/starbirdie
Summary: “Look at what you’re doing to your kingdom. To yourself. Every time I try to talk to you about it, you pretend like it’s no big deal, but I can’t stay and watch you turn into something you’ll regret.”On the eve of the full moon, Iwaizumi returns to Seijoh to slay the demon king.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44
Collections: Beta'd by @slainephoto





	the plant that never blooms

**Author's Note:**

> thanks sm to my beta [@slainephoto](https://twitter.com/slainephoto) for her amazing work once again.

The firelight flickers. It casts infernal shadows over the thin fabric of the makeshift tent, and they weave in and out of each other in a skeletal dance. Iwaizumi tends to the hot coals, prodding at them with the branch of a tree, jostling each of them just enough to send red sparks spiralling into the cool air.

It’s a serene night in the countryside. Most of the stars are out, and the world has swaddled itself in a blanket of stillness. There are no birds, no animals, not even a slight breeze; the only sound is the crackling of the fire. They should be at peace, but peace is the farthest thing from their minds.

Nothing about this is okay. Nothing about this sits right with any of them.

Kenma, perched on a stump directly across from Iwaizumi, tilts his head back to stare at the moon. It’s one day away from fullness: tomorrow, when it’s at its brightest point, when the demon king’s powers are weakest, they will strike.

They’ve been working toward this for months. Months of preparation, carefully mapping routes and sketching battle plans. Months on the road, under constant threat of bandits and the harsh weather and, as they inched ever closer to Seijoh’s borders, the nightmarish landscape that shifts according to the demon king’s whims. Even as they huddle around the campfire for warmth, Iwaizumi sees, out of the corner of his eye, black tendrils curling and coiling just out of reach of the light. Plants, yet not plants—vines infused with Oikawa’s will.

Iwaizumi’s chest constricts. _Oikawa_ —since he left Seijoh, he’s avoided that name, tiptoeing around it even in his own mind. It brings with it far too many complexities, all the complicated feelings he’s tried, and failed, to leave behind. But the truth demands to be faced. Tomorrow, he’s going to face Oikawa for the first time in years. Oikawa, his—his what? His best friend? His former lover? The one person he never imagined he would have to abandon?

“So,” Hinata pipes up. His voice is a dramatic stage-whisper, uncharacteristically hushed yet still too loud in the fragile silence. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“Dumbass Hinata,” Kageyama hisses from beside him. “We’ve already gone over this, have you forgotten already?”

“No!” Hinata scowls. “I just think… we should be sure.” He fiddles with the edges of his tunic, sneaking glances to the flap of the tent where their weapons are stored. Iwaizumi can relate; without his sword in hand, he feels far too vulnerable to relax.

Iwaizumi has already committed the plan to memory. But Kenma takes a deep breath and begins to speak, his low monotone breaking the strange spell of the land, and all of them let out a collective sigh of relief. Kenma’s voice gives them something to focus on, a lifeline to grab onto so that they don’t go mad with their own thoughts.

It’s like this: Michimiya’s tower will be the most heavily guarded, so Hinata and Aone will fight their way through to her together. They’ll likely have to face Kiyoko and her minions, so Aone’s healing abilities will come in handy if anyone is hurt, or if Michimiya has any wounds that need healing. Kenma is going to loop around the other side of the castle to confront Kuroo. His primary objective is to convince Kuroo to stand down peacefully—they have no idea how much of his actions can be attributed to Oikawa’s influence and how much of him is truly beyond saving—but Kageyama will be there as backup in case things go awry.

Which leaves Iwaizumi to walk into the throne room, alone save for the broadsword strapped to his back.

The others had argued against it. Even Kenma, who remains apathetic to most things, vehemently objected to sending Iwaizumi in on his own. _Oikawa is dangerous,_ they said. They would need to work as a team to take him on. They’d suggested staying in a group while they explored the castle, working as a unit to deal with Kiyoko and Kuroo before making their stand against Oikawa together.

Iwaizumi refused every time. This is something he needs to do alone. This is a promise he made.

_“Iwa-chan.”_

_Iwaizumi stops in his tracks. The voice is so familiar, as is the nickname, but the tone is one he’s never heard before: venomous, menacing. He grits his teeth, bracing himself, and turns around._

_Oikawa is noticeably absent of his usual garb. There’s no black cloak fastened at his collar, sweeping behind him as he walks, no heeled boots that click on the marble tile. Even his usual robe is missing. He’s wrapped instead in a thin bedsheet, the folds of it draping over his otherwise exposed skin. The pale of his neck, his collarbone, is still littered with Iwaizumi’s marks._

_“You’re leaving,” Oikawa says, and even like this, hair rumpled and body bare, he exudes power._

_“I’m leaving,” Iwaizumi confirms._

_“When you climbed into my bed tonight, you already knew it was the last time,” Oikawa says. “And you didn’t say anything. You didn’t tell me anything.”_

_“There was no point. You already knew,” Iwaizumi says, because he’s sure Oikawa did. “Look at what you’re doing to your kingdom. To yourself. Every time I try to talk to you about it, you pretend like it’s no big deal, but I can’t stay and watch you turn into something you’ll regret.”_

_Oikawa’s eyes harden, and he wraps the sheet more tightly around himself. “Fine,” he says. “Then leave. Run away in the middle of the night like a coward. You’ll be back soon enough.”_

_Iwaizumi just looks at him. He doesn’t know why Oikawa still tries to put on these acts; he’s been able to see through them for years. And now he sees the hurt in every line of Oikawa’s face, and he almost can’t stand it. Part of Iwaizumi wants to take it all back, to bundle Oikawa into his arms and keep him there until he smiles again, but there’s no coming back from this._

_“I will,” Iwaizumi says. “But it won’t be to ask you to take me back. I’m going to be the one to defeat you, Oikawa.”_

_Oikawa scoffs. His face falls into careful blankness. “I’ll be waiting for it, Iwa-chan."_

Iwaizumi doesn’t get any sleep that night. The moon is too bright, glowing round and full behind his eyelids, and his mind refuses to calm down. His thoughts cycle back to Oikawa, to the steely look in his eyes the last time they were face-to-face. It’s painful to remember how he looked back then, but it would be more painful to forget.

He wonders if Oikawa’s eyes contain any trace of the warm brown they used to be, or if they’re completely red now. How much did he miss, in the years that he was gone? He regrets, sometimes, that he didn’t stay behind. Maybe Oikawa wasn’t beyond saving when he left. Maybe he could have used a voice of reason by his right hand, his loyal knight, to drag him away from the brink. Iwaizumi wonders what it would have been like to watch from behind Oikawa’s throne as the king he swore to serve grew crueller by the day.

They’ll never know. It’s useless to keep thinking along these lines, but Iwaizumi finds himself drawn back to them anyway.

_Please,_ he begs—of the universe, of the stars Oikawa used to love. _Please, just let me go to sleep._

_"Iwa-chan!”_

_The words are accompanied by a heavy, gangly body colliding with his, and Iwaizumi grunts in surprise. Oikawa slams into him, flinging an arm around his shoulders, smiling wide enough for dimples to form in his cheeks._

_“What do you want now?” Iwaizumi asks. He wipes a trickle of sweat from his brow. He and the other trainees are out in the courtyard, practicing sword drills under the hot sun. Oikawa is lucky he showed up during a break, or Irihata-sensei would have glared and barked at him to leave, crown prince or not._

_“Meet me in the observatory tonight?” Oikawa asks. His breath is hot against Iwaizumi’s ear, and Iwaizumi shivers._

_“You couldn’t have waited to tell me this?” Iwaizumi asks. He flicks him on the forehead. “Idiot.”_

_“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whines. “I outrank you, you know.”_

_“Yeah, in levels of annoyance, maybe.”_

_Oikawa lets out an outraged squawk, but Iwaizumi just chuckles and ruffles his hair. A couple of the other trainees are staring at them, whispering amongst themselves behind their hands. They do a poor job of hiding their shock at seeing one of their peers touch a member of the royal family so casually._

_A part of Iwaizumi is fiercely proud of their closeness, proud that he has pieces of Oikawa no one else will ever see. “I’ll be there,” he says, and Oikawa beams at him._

_That night, Iwaizumi sneaks out of bed and climbs the spiral staircase to the little-used observatory right by Oikawa’s room. At the top, he shoulders open the heavy wooden door, not at all surprised to find Oikawa already there, sitting in front of the open tower window with his knees tucked to his chest._

_He’s gazing at the pages of an open book. The pages are curling and yellowing with age, and he strokes them reverently._

_“What’s that?” Iwaizumi asks._

_Oikawa scoots over to make space for him. “Look.” He points at a diagram in the book, a series of dots connected with lines in black ink, then at the night sky. “It shows you how to find the constellations.”_

_“Oh,” is all Iwaizumi can say. He’s far more interested in the soft, awed expression on Oikawa’s face than in the constellations. “Neat.”_

_“Neat?” Oikawa laughs. “You’re so lame, Iwa-chan. No sense of romance. All you care about is your dumb muscles.”_

_Iwaizumi huffs, bumping their shoulders together. “Idiot. Who said anything about romance?”_

_He doesn’t miss the way Oikawa glances at him out of the corner of his eye, thoughtful. His heartbeat picks up, and he knows what it probably means, but he doesn’t want to believe it._

_“Hmm,” Oikawa says. “I wonder.”_

The palace has changed. Or: Oikawa has changed the palace. Now it resembles a fortress more than it does the childhood home of Iwaizumi’s memories; the walls are black stone, and the gate is wrought iron. It swings open as the five of them approach. Knowing Oikawa, he’s probably watching them right now. The hairs on the back of Iwaizumi’s neck prick up.

Brittle grass crunches under their feet as they make their way through the desolate courtyard. They stay clumped together, wary eyes scanning every inch of their surroundings, but the illusion of safety it provides them is just that. Eventually, they’ll be forced to separate.

Sure enough, Hinata digs a homemade rope and grappling hook out of his leather sack, and he and Aone split off to scale Michimiya’s prison. A few steps later, Kenma and Kageyama depart as well, making their way to a secret entrance in the back of the palace. Iwaizumi had told them about its existence.

Kageyama, over his shoulder, shoots Iwaizumi a worried look. He deserted Seijoh’s troops too, though he left earlier than Iwaizumi did. He knows some of what Oikawa is capable of, if not the extent of it, and he had been the one to argue most strenuously against leaving Iwaizumi alone.

Iwaizumi appreciates it, really. But he also knows how deep Oikawa’s insecurity runs when it comes to Kageyama, and he’s determined to keep the younger man out of their quarrel.

He waits until they disappear out of sight, Kenma’s white cloak fluttering as he turns the corner. Closing his eyes, exhaling, Iwaizumi sets his hands against the door’s two large brass ring pulls.

Oikawa is somewhere beyond these walls. Without another moment’s doubt, Iwaizumi wrenches the door open and stalks inside.

The first thing he notices is that it’s dark, despite the morning sun outside. The walls are covered in wine red tapestries and metal sconces. What little torchlight there is only contributes to the oppressive atmosphere, and Iwaizumi grimaces. Before he left, Oikawa had already begun to show a proclivity for the dark, but this is something else.

Still, he makes his way down the plush carpet that he knows will lead him to Oikawa’s throne. His eyes strain to detect any shape or movement in his surroundings.

Iwaizumi’s foot collides with a hard surface, and he hisses, pulling back. He straightens immediately, spine stiffening, when a low laugh reverberates through the room.

All at once, the flames in each sconce balloon in size, swirling into mini infernos of light. The darkness is replaced with blinding light, and once Iwaizumi’s eyes adjust, he sees Oikawa, lounging on his throne. Iwaizumi’s foot had hit the first step of the small staircase that leads up to his daïs.

“So you _did_ show up,” Oikawa says.

His grin is smug; he’s obviously proud of his little display. In a kinder world, Iwaizumi would laugh at him for being so dramatic, and they would go back to how they used to be. Inseparable. Invincible.

This is not that world. Iwaizumi grips the hilt of his broadsword, sliding it out of his holster. Oikawa tracks the movement with his eyes. They are, Iwaizumi notices, red.

Iwaizumi remembers kneeling before this very daïs, head bowed as Oikawa stood before him. He remembers a sword being tapped against each of his shoulders, the crescent moon of Oikawa’s lips as he asked him to swear his fealty.

Now, Oikawa stands as well, rising to his full height and gazing at Iwaizumi down the bridge of his nose. This time, though, there is no oath to be given, no loyalty to pledge.

Dark flame sparks at Oikawa’s fingertips. Iwaizumi falls into a battle stance, sword balanced in front of him.

With a wicked smile, Oikawa strikes first.

_"Iwa-chan?”_

_Iwaizumi sighs, lowering his sword. It’s little more than a wooden stick; his father, despite being the captain of the imperial guard, refuses to trust his son with anything that could actually hurt him. Still, Iwaizumi puts it to good use, sneaking out to the grove behind the palace every afternoon to practice hitting the trees._

_“I told you, it’s Iwaizumi,” he says. “Stop calling me that.”_

_Oikawa pays no mind to the admonishment. He wades through the tall grass of the clearing and stands behind Iwaizumi, peering over his shoulder at the shallow scrapes in the bark of the tree. “Are you going to be a knight like your dad?” he asks._

_Iwaizumi shrugs, affecting nonchalance. In truth, he does; he wants to be a knight more than anything in the world. “I guess,” he says._

_“Woah, so cool, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says. His wide eyes shine. “Does that mean you’ll protect me? You’ll be my knight, when I’m king?”_

_“Probably,” Iwaizumi says. “You’d be useless without me.”_

_“Take that back,” Oikawa says, but Iwaizumi ignores him. He turns the wooden sword over in his hand, lets his skin grow acquainted with the weight of it in his palm. Knight and king, he thinks. Won’t that be grand?_

Iwaizumi assumed, going into the confrontation, that Oikawa wouldn’t be fighting to kill. He’s wrong; the clang of metal against metal rings out into the room as Iwaizumi parries yet another blow intended for his jugular. Oikawa’s face contorts into an almost feral frown. He summons an onyx dagger out of thin air and strikes at Iwaizumi. It glances off his cheek, and he hisses as he feels a trickle of warm blood well from it and drip down his face.

Iwaizumi has been aiming his strikes at Oikawa’s ribs, his shoulders, his legs—blows intended to incapacitate, not to kill. Oikawa bats them away with ease, and he must pick up on Iwaizumi’s reluctance to hurt him because he smirks.

“Someone’s getting soft,” Oikawa taunts. He aims a ball of dark fire at Iwaizumi, who deflects it with the flat of his blade. “Looks like you’ve been slacking since you left.”

Iwaizumi growls, swinging his blade against Oikawa’s dagger and knocking it out of his hand. It crashes onto the floor and skitters away, disintegrating back into shadow as soon as it’s out of reach.

“You’ve always relied too much on magic,” Iwaizumi says. Emboldened, he presses forward, putting Oikawa on the defensive. He pushes Oikawa back toward a wall, eventually cornering him against it, lining the tip of his sword to Oikawa’s throat.

Oikawa’s throat bobs as he swallows. The smirk remains on his face, but he raises his hands to each side in a mocking gesture of surrender.

“I guess I do,” he says. “I’ve underestimated you, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi’s hand shakes, and Oikawa winces as the sword nicks his Adam’s apple. Blood wells up around the tip and runs down the blade in a single red line. Iwaizumi follows it with his eyes. It’s so hard to breathe.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says. He doesn’t know what he wants to ask, doesn’t know if there’s anything worth saying between them at this point, but there are words crawling up his throat and they’ll choke him if they don’t get out. “Why did you—what happened?” He looks at Oikawa helplessly. “Everything could be different.”

Oikawa clenches his jaw, the only visible sign that he’s not as calm as he’s letting on. “No use worrying about that, is there?” he snaps. “Get on with it.”

Iwaizumi licks his lips. “If you were in my position,” he says. “Could you do it?”

“You’d be dead already,” Oikawa says.

He’s lying. Iwaizumi may not know Oikawa as well as he did, but he knows him well enough to tell that. It’s in the trembling of his fingers, the nearly imperceptible downward pull of his lip. Oikawa doesn’t want to die, and Iwaizumi doesn’t want to kill him.

The broadsword clatters to the ground, fallen from Iwaizumi’s numb fingers. One second Oikawa is staring at it, wide-eyed with confusion, and the next Iwaizumi is trapping him against the wall in a rough kiss.

Oikawa melts into it, clutching onto Iwaizumi’s biceps. Iwaizumi chokes back a sob; kissing Oikawa is so familiar, like coming home. He stumbles, his knees buckle, and he and Oikawa sink to the ground without once breaking apart. In his arms, Oikawa shakes with silent tears; they roll down his face and turn the kiss salty and bittersweet.

_“Hajime,”_ Oikawa gasps. “Hajime—”

“I know,” Iwaizumi says. He guides Oikawa’s head to his shoulder and lets him cry. “I’ve got you, Tooru.”

Oikawa’s hands, claw-like, fist in his armor hard enough to dent the metal with his inhuman strength. Iwaizumi wonders whether the others have completed their parts of the mission by now, and he’s the only thing holding them back.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says. He sits back, wiping his eyes, face growing serious. He grabs Iwaizumi’s sword from where it fell and hands it to him. “You have to go for the heart, otherwise I might not die.”

Iwaizumi blanches. “Tooru, what—”

“The heart, Hajime.” Oikawa wraps Iwaizumi’s unresisting hands around the hilt and points it at his own chest. His eyes are more determined, and more clear, than Iwaizumi has seen them in ages.

“What are you doing?” Iwaizumi asks, panic rising in him. He wants to throw the sword aside, wants to take Oikawa’s hand and drag him out of the castle and run away with him. Go somewhere no one’s ever heard of demons or knights or broken promises. But he’s frozen. He can’t do anything but watch as Oikawa signs his own death warrant with Iwaizumi’s hand.

“You were right,” Oikawa says. “I wouldn’t be able to kill you. So this is the only way.”

Oikawa’s fingers are cold; his nails are sharp and they dig into Iwaizumi’s skin. Still, Iwaizumi memorizes the feeling. It may be the last time he gets to hold Oikawa’s hand.

“It’s not,” Iwaizumi says. His voice is barely a whisper. “It can’t be.”

“Hey, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa cups Iwaizumi’s jaw, tilts his head up until they’re staring each other in the eye. He brushes his thumb over Iwaizumi’s lips. “You swore to serve me. I’m asking you to carry out one last order.”

Iwaizumi takes a low, shaky breath. His grip tightens on the sword. He meets Oikawa’s eyes one last time—they’re brown, and so lovely, no trace of demonic influence left—and he drives his sword into Oikawa’s heart.

_,I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz_

_.or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off_

_,I love you as certain dark things are to be loved_

_.in secret, between the shadow and the soul_

**Author's Note:**

> title & quote are from sonnet xvii by pablo neruda.
> 
> i was hesitant to post this because it's so different from my usual, but i do like how it turned out. comments & kudos are appreciated, and you can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/birdiwaoi) and [tumblr](https://thelittlebirdthattoldyou.tumblr.com/).
> 
> thank you all for reading!!


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